Sociopath Has Your Number
by WhiteGloves
Summary: Quite a delicate situation where Mycroft has to go on an unexpected 'date'. Good thing Sherlock was always on duty to look after the people he cares about. (Holmes brothers) *brotherlybond


***Sociopath Has Your Number** *****

 _ **by: WhiteGloves**_

 _One-shot along the way~_

 _ **Thanks for reading :)**_

* * *

"I came as soon as I can." Mycroft stepped inside his brother's flat at 221B with an air of purpose, wearing his long, dark overcoat, pristine three-piece suit and obligatory umbrella. He didn't take another step as he found the person he was addressing and stood his ground, obviously not planning to stay long. "What is the matter, Sherlock that you had to call so urgently?" he turned his levelled eyes to that lone figure sitting by the table whose back was on him. Sherlock was on his blue sleeping robes and had clearly not left his house since this morning.

"I called you," came the young man's deep voice till it cracked at the end of the sentence, the same time he whirled his chair to face his frowning brother, " _three days ago_ and you had the gall to say you came as soon as you can?"

Mycroft didn't look offended at the tone having been accustomed to his junior's unreasonable outbursts most of the time. He merely changed his footing and puffed his chest out, all the while already noticing his brother's interest with a deck of cards scattered on his table— instantly he knew why he was called and got a bit impatient as it was indeed for a trifle reason.

"Why should I be in any hurry? There was no explosion, your house wasn't set on fire and no suspicious character has dropped by your doorstep except Dr. Watson, which is saying the same thing by the way, but you know how occupied I am—"

"Yes, yes, you and your minor position." Sherlock waved him away and was about to point at the cards on his table when he stopped and stare at Mycroft with his body half turning and half freezing on the spot. The older Holmes caught each meaningful movement of his brother's eyes that surveyed him from head to foot and beat him out of speaking before things could get unnecessarily out of hand—

"Your deck of cards—"

 _"That's a new suit—"_

"— with faces of deceased people in the center whom you might recognize with the basic facts of their cases." Mycroft pressed on, seeing that Sherlock was still ogling at his appearance, "Yes, well, I don't know how you got your hands on those cards, they _are_ supposed to be limited inside all Her Majesty's Prison, and should only be available at the hands of inmates and commissary."

Sherlock met his gaze and his eyes narrowed into slits.

"So this is your doing." He went back to his cards, effectively distracted, "Let me see—you put up the photos of victims from cold cases on to these cards, printed with their case files and distribute them to inmates, hoping that they might have flashes of recognition and give authorities leads and information."

"Precisely."

"Ingenious." Sherlock commented, his eyes flashing as he took one of the cards and fell silent.

"Is that all I am here for?" Mycroft did not wait for any confirmation as he turned his feet—only to hear his brother's deep voice again—

 _"You have a date."_

Mycroft sighed deeply and stepped down the stairs, only to hear Sherlock scramble to his feet and call after him; and the Holmes brothers stared at each other from the second landing and the top floor with the consulting detective hanging on the wooden railings with his faced screwed up.

 _"Really, you have a date?"_ he asked rather offensively, not bothering to mask his silly expression, "What for?"

"Not your business, Sherlock." Mycroft warned him and ignored the rest of the noise upstairs as he briskly walked down the first landing, not bothering to look around for any sign of the landlady, stopping only by the door as he closed it quietly with its knocker straight, then proceeding to the sidewalk and clambering in his car.

The car's door opened the second time and Sherlock Holmes dropped himself on the seat next to his brother. He was already on his celebrated dark coat and blue scarf with his unruly hair everywhere. Also, he was on his Persian slippers.

Mycroft was staring stunned at his brother. "What the hell are you doing?"

"I'm escorting you." Sherlock grinned widely.

"I don't need an escort!"

"Yes, you do." Sherlock held his gaze in all seriousness, "You're stepping the boundaries of your knowledge by going in this date. Are you even aware of what goes on the head of a woman?" Mycroft looked at each of his brother's eyes, not commenting. That was when Sherlock's eyes twinkled in understanding. " _So it's not a woman?_ Interesting."

The older Holmes shook his head. "Get off, Sherlock, I'm not planning to be embarrassed by you."

"I can tell you the same thing." Sherlock answered solemnly, "For one, _you hate goldfishes_ and just now you're planning to swim it up with high expectations that first dates are always as perfect as they are to be. You think everything would go smoothly just because you're on your new tie and new shoes? Mycroft, you have the experience of a toddler when it comes to society so buckle up and let me help you. It's not always that I'm the one initiating. Besides, you don't want to see me appear like a waiter or a musician or door opener, do you?"

Lots of thoughts seemed to pass Mycroft's mind as he weighed his options, but after a while he gave a rumbling sigh and nodded at his chauffeur. And the black car glided away from 221B containing an unexpected combination of smarts. Mycroft seemed uncomfortable with the arrangement and he expressed it so.

"Look, this is not anything that you're expecting, Sherlock."

"Yes, you going on a date is a paramount concern. But then there's always a first."

 _"I'm not naïve!"_ Mycroft pressed on, his face uncharacteristically red, as only his younger brother could bring out, "This is not _romance—_ this is business. I am not entitled to tell you any details—"

"What are you talking about, you're the title holder. Stop dillydallying and speak, by the route we are going, we're headed to the Grand—what a sophisticated choice of royal restaurant. You really don't come cheap." He glanced at his brother to find him chewing his lips thin. Sherlock looked away. "Or… you were merely invited, that this was not your choice of place at all, but you had no choice but to come." He frowned at his own words and shot his brother a look. " _You?_ Forced by anyone?"

Mycroft glared at him. "It's complicated."

"So am I." the younger Holmes gave his full attention to his brother. " _Who in the world have the power to make you do something you don't like?"_

"It's an agreement," the older Holmes explained stiffly, "Nobody could make me do anything, Sherlock. It so happens I see the benefit of this meeting—so to outwardly say that I was forced—stop jumping to conclusions, I'm not a getting hassled into marriage."

"Obviously, or there'd be more drama." Sherlock sat back on his chair with arms crossed, "Is it about state secrets?"

"Capital."

"Something that can guarantee the safety of queen and country?"

"Undoubtedly."

"And you think it really necessary to attend when you could have just sent one of your secretaries?"

A short pause, then Mycroft cleared his throat and answered, "As per agreement, I should be the one to appear. Without escort." He glanced at his younger brother two and the brothers exchanged meaningful looks. The car turned, and street lights illuminated the brothers' blank features. Then Sherlock looked away and sighed exasperatedly.

"You were caught in a scheme, it seemed."

"I dived in, head first."

"Why didn't you have him arrested?" Sherlock quickly shot his brother a look again, "Less you were interested?"

"I'm interested in what he has to say." Mycroft corrected, "And stop throwing looks around like you're some teenage girl getting the hypes of the situation—nothing here is exciting, you understand? It's a business meeting."

Sherlock clicked his tongue and rolled his eyes. "Dull. The prospect of you getting involved romantically never crossed my mind. But the idea that _someone_ actually managed to penetrate your wall to exhibit yourself in a date _is interesting._ Come on, Mycroft— _I need to meet this person who can manipulate you at will._ Couldn't have been a prince, could it?"

"Shut up."

"Who was it then?"

"A CIA agent who was sent by their embassy to inform us of the recent activities of Russian spies and their uncontrollable network hacking. The Americans were able to retrace the route and generate a rebound effect—instead they were able to get vital files from the Russian archives. Including ours. You have no idea of the weight of the information. I've glimpsed a page and it was colossal, what more to have the rest? Except that even CIA are doubting to have an exchange of information, knowing the kind of leadership they now suffer; so here I am, to meet the agent I had always been in contact to talk the matter over. _Business talk."_

"Business talk in a fancy restaurant? Yeah right. You're getting taken advantaged."

" _I am taking advantage_ of this too. I couldn't hope for a better scenario. Even _you_ know that human's weakness would always be their sentiments? Ah, yes, you got engaged for applying said knowledge."

"So you admit there are some lingering feelings involved with the man you're meeting?"

It was Mycroft's turn to click his tongue and look away as silence fell in the car until it reached the front of the Grand and the brothers stepped out of the car, with Sherlock now wearing one of Mycroft's extra black shoes which was only a size bigger. Shoulder to shoulder, the Holmes brothers entered the building. They were met by a footman who smoothly lead Mycroft onwards—he looked around to find that Sherlock had left his side. He was now alone. Clutching on his umbrella with that terrible notion that his brother was up to no good, he walked after the footman till he was able to see the familiar face of the American who was already sitting by the table. At his arrival, the man raised a hand amiably. He was a tall person, much taller than Mycroft with short blonde hair and blue eyes. He had those strong nose and jaw of an officer ready for any fieldwork assignment and a smile that couldn't tell if he would let his enemies live or die.

Mycroft read everything in a glance and was bored.

"Mr. Holmes, glad you could come." The American stretched out a hand which Mycroft shook, and the two gentlemen sat opposite each other at the heart of the restaurant. "I was afraid you wouldn't come."

"I never break agreement, Mr. Royce." Mycroft said loftily, "especially not with matters this high. But I have to say—a poor choice of place for such a delicate matter to discuss." He glanced around the number of people, pretending to make an impression, when in reality he was searching for that dark, curly haired mass of trouble. He saw none.

"Discuss?" Mr. Royce blinked several times before nodding in comprehension, "Ah, that's right, you meant the files? Of course we'll discuss it but not here. I have made reservations for a private room, we can go there after we dine." He smiled innocently at the British Government Head whose already thin lips have completely made a fine line, same with his eyebrows.

"Mr. Royce—" he began as he held his umbrella tight, planning to add his ultimate _'you're trying my patience'—_ when out of nowhere, Sherlock came sliding down the chair between them with a huge smile of a person who was meant to be expected—

"Sorry, I know, _late_." He pressed another smile at the thunderstruck American and to his older brother who was watching him questioningly. "Yes, I hope I didn't spoil the evening, Mycroft, Mr. Royce." He nodded at the American who blinked at him, and then averted his eyes to Mycroft who had pressed his eyes closed as he leaned back on his chair.

"Mr. Royce, allow me to introduce my younger brother, Sherlock Holmes."

"Sherlock Holmes?" he repeated in the same manner as others who were acquainted with the name, and he stretched his hand to shake the detective's hand. "What an honor. I've heard so much about you. I didn't know…" he glanced at the British Government Head, "your brother invited you as well."

"He's always in need of my assistance." Sherlock gave his brother a side glance and saw that one of his eyebrows was high up the sky in a threatening manner. His grin widened. "But technically, I'm here to protect my investment."

"Investment?" Mr. Royce repeated, confused.

Sherlock raised a hand and tapped his brother's right top hand. "Had to make sure he gets home by curfew. Wouldn't want him staying late, is all." Mycroft pulled his hand away with an extremely annoyed look.

"Sherlock, shut up." He didn't seem concerned to cover his irritation any longer. "If you're hungry, go get another table, I have things to discuss with Mr. Royce."

"But I've just arrived."

"Yes, I can see that, now move on." Mycroft leaned on the table, his eyes not leaving his brothers while the American stared from one Holmes to the other.

"It doesn't matter, really," said Royce out of nowhere that caught the brothers' attention who both looked at him at the same time, "This is a social gathering, we might as well add numbers. And regarding our private discussion, Mr. Holmes, we have a place for it. I'm just not sure if we could invite your brother there as well."

Sherlock was eyeing Mycroft for some time before turning his eyes back to the American.

"I should think I am needed there. For one, I need to know to whom I shall go when there is a custody battle."

"Custody battle?" Mr. Royce stared while Mycroft pressed his right palm on his eyes.

"Surely you know my brother is my only custodian." Sherlock explained with solemnity you would never see him give his own brother, "Where he goes, I go, thus this situation. So you must be willing to accept me as well, in full responsibility after the marriage."

"Sherlock!" Mycroft's voice raised a little and he was aware of the eyes that fell on his back.

"R-right." Royce looked completely baffled. "But aren't you old enough—?"

"One is only as old as one thinks." The detective winked, placed both his elbows on the table, clasped his hands together, put his chin there and stared at the American full in the face, his eyes unblinking and unforgiving. "So, Mr. Royce, _let's talk._ "

Royce glanced at Mycroft uncertainly as Sherlock continued—

"You've been in five relationships, one annulment and with three children from different women. Your profession made it possible as you can travel from different places and different time zones, but you never returned to any them." He paused, eyes darkening, "You have a bad habit of smoking, you couldn't last a day without a stick or two, a history of violence when too drunk and once reported for trespassing at a colleague's house when he had just returned from a recent foreign trip—highlighting the fact that you were once his stalker. So let's limit your privileges once married to my brother—for one, I'll personally be your adviser whether an action is deemed human or not—and two— _no stalking if ever he rejects you or this won't be the last time we'll see each other._ " He paused for some effects.

Mycroft this time already had his arms crossed as he watched this exchange happen. Royce was staring at Sherlock like he had not seen anything horrific. His face had paled all through out the narration and stammered when he finally had the chance to speak—

"Those are _off records…_ how did you?"

"My business to know things you think can hide." He smiled. "They call me high functioning sociopath if you haven't heard. And I have all your number. Just coming out clean in case I must live under your roof too. Do I have to mention about your life in Las Vegas—?"

Mr. Royce stood up abruptly and made for the men's room, leaving the Holmes brothers staring after his disappearing back, till he was gone. Only the sound of utensils and gentle whispers could be heard around. Then Mycroft's deep sigh.

"You know you just blew my only chance?" he said, not looking at each other but the frown he was making was enough display of his disapproval, "I suppose I really have to go in this private session and apologize extensively… who knows what that could mean."

"You won't go anywhere near him." Sherlock muttered in disdain as he took something from hic coat pocket and placed it on the table. Mycroft looked at it and saw a memory stick. His eyes widened.

"Is this…?"

"Copies of Royce's files," Sherlock replied, facing his brother, "to be more precise I drained all the information in his laptop. He kept everything in his car, I'm sure he has his own copy to use against you, but I took my chance. It's easy to know a rental car preferred by American spies. It's always those with 007 plate. Anyway, if it didn't work out, I was planning to crash in the suite as well. Like you could handle yourself from there." He smirked at Mycroft's expression who took the memory stick and securely put it inside his chest pocket.

"Oh, thank you…" he breathed a sigh of relief, "you don't know how much trouble—"

"I've saved Royce from." Sherlock stood up and Mycroft followed suit, "Will you have him arrested?"

"I'll leave him a message he wouldn't forget. He's still an asset you know."

"But you're not really planning to make him lead you, are you?"

"It depends on the kind of leading he was willing to take." the British Government Head lead the way with his younger brother right behind him, "If you hadn't intervened, I would have simply observed, and if he was truly persuasive, he would have suffered the consequences I had planned to cast down upon him. The humiliation of his actions for I'm not really the forgiving sort."

"Always tactical of you, to observe his approach. But you were still following him."

"Right to say—just curious of how he would play it. Nothing more."

"You're really cool about all of this, are you?"

"If you haven't gotten involved I might still be. But knowing you had the idea of somebody—"

"—actually having an interest with you—" Sherlock cut in, receiving a glare from his brother.

"An interest—call it what you will— _is simply awful._ Sherlock, you must not think me that incompetent when it comes to holding myself against these kinds of attack. The number of times—"

 _"Number of times?"_ the two had now reached the street where the British Government's car had slowly slid in. Sherlock had pulled his brother back when he heard him say this, "How many times to be exact?"

Mycroft raised an eyebrow haughtily as the footman opened the car door for them.

"Please, _I'm the British Government._ I raise numbers." And he disappeared inside his car, leaving his younger brother gaping.

"What the hell's that mean?" he slid inside too and shut the door close, but not before he was heard saying, "How many people have you put in prison? What did you feed them in the first place?"

"For Godsake, you're worse than mother."

"You're worse when you're not acting like her with me. Really, Mycroft— _I'm keeping my eye on you._ I hate to lose my custodian to just anyone now when you're all so Mr. Perfect and responsible and—"

 _"Shut up, now Sherlock!"_

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 **-The End-**

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 ** _A/N:_** _I don't always put Mycroft in danger, but when I do, it's terrible ^^''_

 _This one was light as I couldn't afford writing series anymore!_

I've been meaning to see how responsible Sherlock can be!

I miss them terribly! _Hope you liked it!_

 **Thanks for reading! ^_^**

 **~W.G~**


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